A rebel without a clue.

Another sunrise, but shining through crystal clear windows. The people working on the exterior of the building cleaned up after themselves, but with smears left behind in their rush, so, finally, I made it clear, outside and in, using elbow grease for an hour or so, before cleaning the rooms for the first time since spring - lacking sorely in motivation. Friday afternoon I returned to the flat, but couldn't stop myself going into town - the sun was high in the sky and my flat faces east and by noon I only see lengthening shadows; although it is perfect for the sunrise as we reach back towards the equinox. There is a sign on building sites which states that they are considerate construction workers... Whoever considers reversing signalling noise OK at 6am on Sunday must live in a very inconsiderate world; which is destinctly true! But I intend to go walking today: although there is something blocking any motivation for it. Once I would positively fly out of Leeds, via Shadwell, etc,...

As el Camino calls me once more it is time to draw a line under the daily journal I've been keeping for Abby, Occupational Health Therapist, who says I may desist anyway and return to The Way, but, in typical fashion, I've begun Day-One the same way as all my others since I first discovered Podcasts and  In Our Time . Coffee. Podcast. Listening to nature awake. Crows and pigeons. And the distant hum of the A1(M): Wetherby. There could be a worse way to awaken and depart? Monday morning and I know where I am staying for the next three nights: Behind Sacré-Coeur (15€ @ L’hôtellerie de la Basilique), Relais Saint Jacques(Donativo) in Le Puy and, then on Wednesday, in a communal tent on the campsite in Monistrol-d’Allier (16€ Camping le Vivier). After that I have to pray meaningfully as I have chosen a period of holidays in France to shoot across La Manche. They have Liberation Day and Ascension Day on Wednesday and Thursday so everyone and his dog will take a bridging day on Frida...

Sunday 16th. The longest day. The usual longest day as Glenn and I up sticks and returned to our hutches in Leeds from Bordeaux. It's possibly my favourite city in France and I've probably only scratched the surface of it. I've been several times now. Angoulême is nice, but quite hard to reach from Limoges if you miss the occasional bus times. I'd return to Angoulême to walk el Camino set out by their Amis Saint Jacques association. Slept from around 8pm. Mum buzzed me once she'd enjoyed an episode of the original All Creatures... So I am sat by the window enjoying a cafétiere of coffee. Smooth blend as the heating clocks off. It's frosty outside. Monday 17th Awoke out of a dream in which Lola ascended to heaven. During a regressive dream into my youth she was the final aspect at the pinnacle of being. And I woke with tears in my eyes, went to the toilet with tears in my eyes and returned to my bed wondering if it was a sign that she's returning to whence sh...

I want to be alone. And I need to be alone Be absent from these ones The sounds of spring Remind me like the chimes That there is more to solitude. Listen to those songsters  Warbling their hearts most high I am not alone, we're one. I belong here hearing you. *** Several days later I got alone... From Queralbs to Núria I saw not one soul. And I tested my foot. The wound hasn't absolutely vanished, but it's very nearly healed up. 10 miles up to 2000 metres. It took me two hours after I stopped for a entrepane around nine. Some of the path was straight up the gorge and ravines, or across a boulder strewn landscape, where my foot falls were considered methodically; I wanted no repeat of Vinça where I learnt a lesson plunging down a torrent's pathway, between large boulders,:and battered and bruised (probably broken) but alive and laughing my head off. It's Wednesday, but feels like Monday. Yesterday was a Sunday... Calm and alcohol free. The same can not be said of th...

It will be three weeks this Thursday (20th February) since I was under the scalpel (or laser) of Adam Budgen at the Nuffield Hospital to remove what's been stopping my previous life (other than alcoholism) since COVID: a Morton's Neuroma. It's gone. I can't feel it anymore. The area around the operation is tender, etc., but I can't feel the alien body I could previously (at least since I struggled to Segovia in December 2022 having to walk through excruciating pain for 10 kilometres before any 'civilisation' was reached). Nothing nearly so obviously painful was stopping me walking over twenty kilometres in the morning and ten in the afternoon since I got used to blisters, knee swellings, leg pain or shoulder soreness (back in 2013) which really was helping me see clearly and happily within this structure I fail otherwise to inhabit. I've just realised I can see through the gap between to the two toes where the operation has been. All the swelling has gon...